


The Color Red

by Grimmseye



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Just circus people being pals, Other, Pre-Stream (Critical Role), Protective Mollymauk Tealeaf, Protective Yasha, They will both kill and die for each other lbr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 18:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21378388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmseye/pseuds/Grimmseye
Summary: It’s a spilling of colors, delicate petals and curling leaves, stems in all shades of green. She sees some that are smaller than the nail on her pinky finger, some blooms would nestle snugly in both hands. Yasha couldn’t name a single one.The shop bell rings. She does not look up, until a far smaller hand is in hers and Mollymauk is smiling into her face. “We need to go,” he breathes.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf & Yasha
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79





	The Color Red

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt request for "Molly and Yasha back in the circus days"!

The florist’s shop is  _ beautiful.  _

It’s a spilling of colors, delicate petals and curling leaves, stems in all shades of green. She sees some that are smaller than the nail on her pinky finger, some blooms would nestle snugly in both hands. Yasha couldn’t name a single one. 

She gives a sigh, gazing through the window. The shop guard is giving her a wary look — she knows she cannot linger too long. Eventually the guard will approach her, question her. She’ll tell them she’s with the circus that rolled into town, but they will look at her face and her hair and her arms and her sword and still turn her away. Why she isn’t allowed to just admire the flowers, she couldn’t possibly know. 

Yasha reaches into her pocket and pulls out a handful of silver pieces. A bouquet would run her  _ gold.  _ Still, maybe she could afford just a single stem, one of those bright red flowers that aren’t quite bloomed yet, the petals hugging each other like an upturned bell. 

The guard eyes her visibly as she approaches, and follows her into the shop. This is fine, and common. The sensation of a gaze on the back of her neck still is not comfortable. Mollymauk — he thrives under a spotlight, catches attention with his tongue and teases it between his teeth. She tries to mimic his posture, straightening upright and putting a swagger into her hips. She does not have a tail to wag as she taps heel-to-toe through the shop. 

The customers are quick to move out of her way, letting her examine a basket of these flowers.  _ One Rose: 1S  _ it advertises. A silver piece could be the difference between having a meal or not one night, but this bloom is just so gorgeous. 

The shop bell rings. She does not look up, until a far smaller hand is in hers and Mollymauk is smiling into her face. “We need to go,” he breathes. 

Yasha’s face darkens. She encloses his hand within his own, the two of them breaking for the door. The guard moves for just a moment, a hand moving to his sword. 

“Pardon me, sir,” Molly croons, voice sugary-sweet even in his winded state. “We don’t mean any harm.”

His eyes glaze over. A flush rises on his cheeks as he stands aside and motions them through with a stammered, “Of — of course.” 

Something about the  _ charm  _ he can conjure always makes Yasha’s skin prickle, though it’s not quite the bristling from the first time she’d witnessed it. Backing away from him, a hand on her sword, knowing better than to be convinced by the  _ shock  _ and the  _ hurt  _ on his face and the furious tears beading in his eyes as he balled his hands into such tight fists that his palms dripped blood. Now she knows what it really is. A moment of confusion, no different than flaunting a pretty smile on an exceptionally pretty face. Mollymauk has never hurt someone without cause, and that is enough to secure Yasha’s faith. 

They shoulder out the door, and at once she sees the issue. There is a team of guards patrolling the streets, and they turn at the sudden motion. They point, shouting, and Mollymauk yanks on Yasha’s hand to send them both bolting down the street. 

They let go of each other, paces matched between Molly’s agility and Yasha’s long stride. He pulls ahead, skidding like a cat around a corner and into some back alley. There’s a yelp, Yasha catching the sight of Molly breaking away from some civilian he’d just crashed into without apology. Yasha clips her with her shoulder as she barrels through, knocking the woman back to the ground. 

At the other end of the alley, a team of guards rush past, and then abruptly double back. “Yash, need a boost!” Mollymauk calls, feet skittering to halt himself and dart back her way. She drops down, fingers knitted, catching his foot and heaving upwards. Molly lands with a clatter of roof tiles.

There’s a telltale series of clicks and then the  _ thwack  _ of crossbows firing. Pain flares in her back, her arms. Molly snarls in infernal, a phrase she recognizes as approximately meaning  _ I’ll eat your heart out!  _ One guard cries in pain and a bolt whizzes past her ear. 

The pain pulses, a sneer pulling at her lips. She can feel the heat of blood and adrenalin and the muscles tensing. As Mollymauk skitters, nervous and dripping blood from his nose — they have an agreement:  _ you run, get me out later.  _ If they’re both caught, they’ll be useless for each other. 

But she’s not getting caught. Yasha gives a shout as she surges upwards, catching the roof’s edge and clawing her way up. Molly puts a hand on her arm, his tail flagging excitedly as he beams, says, “You’re amazing, let’s go.”

They leap across three rooftops before hitting a main thoroughfare, leading to the city limits. Molly tucks and rolls as he lands, Yasha takes the impact. He hisses, scolds, “You’re going to fuck something up like that!” 

“I can still run,” she says, and shoves him forward. 

There’s a sudden row of  _ snap, snap, snap.  _ One, two, three bolts strike into Molly’s side. As he’s pitching forward, his foot slides out and back, he hits the ground face first and then immediately seizes with a gasp of pain. Blood soaks through his clothes, bright red bleeding over white. It fills Yasha’s vision. 

There’s a trio of guards, each of them loading a fresh bolt into their crossbows. One stands back, a horn blowing loud and clear into the sky, summoning more ants to swarm them. 

Yasha’s breath huffs out of her. A vein bulges in her forehead, hefting her sword to let it glint in the evening sun. She bares her teeth as she stalks towards them, feels the heat of her own bloog suddenly go  _ cold,  _ feels her hair stand on end, feels something dark and dreadful work its way out of her chest as she screams out at these guards in pain and fury and a promise to inflict Mollymauk’s pain back on them tenfold. 

They drop their crossbows and  _ bolt.  _ A feral, raging part of her wants to give chase and crack their  _ skulls  _ into the  _ ground.  _ But Mollymauk is gurgling on a laugh behind her, and that is far more important. Yasha sheathes her sword, rushing back to him and falling to her knees, cradling Mollymauk in her arms. He’s  _ so  _ little like this. 

“I’m fine,” he smiles at her, eyes squinted. “Actually this hurts like a son of a bitch and I need medical attention, but I’m breathing!” 

Yasha stands, cradling him close against her chest. He nuzzles shamelessly against the curve there and mumbles something about the best pillow, and Yasha’s lips twitch in a faint smile as she carries Mollymauk out beyond the city’s gates. No one moves to stop her. 

The circus has an encampment just a little ways out, far enough that they can pack up and run if the guard comes after them. Their resident healer chews Molly out as they pull the bolts out of his flesh and jab at the wounds until he’s cursing in the devil’s tongue. Yasha growls at them, then, and they get back to healing. 

“Sorry for the fright,” he laughs. “Turns out it’s  _ pretty  _ offensive to call yourself an angel there. They shoulda sent you, then they’d’a bought it.”

Yasha snorts and taps his forehead. “Me? You don’t believe that.”

“‘Course I do! I’d never lie to you.” He winks at her, and Yasha scoffs. 

The thing is, it’s true. 

“I’m just glad you were at that florist. Did you get anything?” 

“Mmm.” Yasha pulls out her handful of silver, playing with the coins. “No. That’s probably best, though. I would have wasted money on just a flower.”

Molly frowns. “Well, a  _ waste.  _ I guess you don’t want this, then?” 

He pulls up the sleeve of his coat. Blooming in his palm, lines scratched into his arm from the thorns, is a single red rose. He plucks it out, losing his grin for a moment to cuss and rub his arm. “Those things sting, you know?” He smiles again, softer this time, as he offers it to her, a flower as vibrant as the red of his eyes. 

Yasha is covering her mouth, she realizes. She lowers her hand to take it, cradling the bloom. “Molly,” she breathes. “You just took this?” 

“Well, I was sure to drop a silver piece on the way out,” he smiles, and bumped his horns against her arm. Yasha wraps her arm around him to pull him close — and immediately lets go as he cusses and clutches his injured side. 


End file.
